Two Princes
by Rygelina
Summary: Have you ever wondered what happened to Prince Erik and Leela? Well, this is my take on the aftermath of "Coup de Grace". Set in the beginning of season two. Erik/Leela. Nikita/Michael.


Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and situations of Nikita. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: It seems I have developed a knack for writing stories that are short and sweet, so here we go again. This is a rather unusual angle, but I hope you like it.

**Two Princes**

Prince Erik was no longer prince, he was king. It should have felt good, but it didn't.

The first day of the rest of his life dawned bright and clear, but all he could feel was the endless weight of responsibility on his shoulders. His future should have felt as glorious as the sun rising over the rim of the mountains. Instead, it was a cold, dark wasteland.

_Without her._

As he sat down to breakfast, staff scurrying around him like ants, he couldn't help but wonder if every morning would be like this: lonely. Plates of food miraculously appeared in front of him, but all he could think about was that somewhere in the castle, perhaps only a couple of rooms away, Leela was beginning her day, too. To be that close to her, yet so very far away, was nothing short of excruciating.

All he wanted was to be with her, but they had both been caught up in the whirl of publicity and politics surrounding the failed coup-attempt. All of a sudden he was the golden boy, the darling of the media, sought after and courted by every reporter and aspiring politician on the continent. It had left precious little time for the two of them. Then his ascension to the throne had mired them both in ancient rules and courtly etiquette. Despite his best intentions, it seemed it was their destiny to be forever stuck in a holding pattern.

As Erik finally started to eat, a stack of mail appeared by his elbow. Most of it consisted of thick, heavily embossed envelopes bearing all kinds of seals; no doubt congratulatory notes from ambassadors and various foreign heads-of-state. On top, however, was a simple postcard. With a puzzled frown, he picked it up and turned to his aide who was still hovering over his shoulder.

"It arrived a few minutes ago, Your Majesty, by messenger."

Erik absentmindedly waved him away, his eyes immediately drawn to the silhouetted skyline on the front. _New York? I don't know anyone in New York._ He had, in fact, only been there once, and that was during the whole Kristina-debacle. That line of thought immediately drew another woman to mind and he inhaled sharply. _No, it can't be…_

He turned it over. It was addressed to him, by name only, no address. The sentiment was short. _"Fight for what you want."_

"Oh, my God." His exclamation drew the attention of the entire room.

"Your Majesty?"

"Uh… Never mind." He cleared his throat. "I'd like a few moments alone, please."

"Of course, Your Majesty." His aide quickly ushered the rest of the staff out the door.

Erik stared at the postcard. Never in a million years had he thought that he would ever hear from his enigmatic savior again. He had certainly wished to many times over the past months. He owed her so much, and a brief thank you had seemed entirely inadequate at the time. Why had she sent him a message now? And why only a simple postcard with nothing on it except a cryptic remark? He frowned and turned the card over in his hands, carefully examining every line and seam. _There has to be something more…_

On a hunch he held it up towards the light, and there it was, a faint outline of something hidden inside the postcard. He ran his fingertips along the edges and quickly found what he was looking for. A tiny, dog-eared corner. He grabbed it and pulled and the entire back suddenly came off.

Underneath was a snap-shot of a smiling couple embracing on the porch of a rugged-looking house. He recognized both of them instantly, and smiled widely. The last time he had seen the two of them the situation had been very different indeed.

It was in the aftermath of the hostage incident. He and Leela had been cared for by the EMT s and were talking with the police when a sudden movement from the museum entrance had caught his eye. One of the "FBI"-agents had stalked out into the parking lot, wearing the expression of a thunderhead about to explode. He stared out through the throng of people and when Erik followed his line of sight it landed on Nikita. Erik had immediately realized who it must be. He watched as the two of them exchanged a look of such pain and bitterness that Erik could almost feel the static crackling through the air. Then Nikita vanished into thin air. Michael had just stood there, a look of stunned disbelief spreading over his face. Erik couldn't help but wonder what events in their past could possibly have led them to this?

He looked at the picture. He had made Nikita promise to fight for what she wanted. Obviously, she had. Smiling for the camera, she looked more beautiful than ever. More than that, she looked happy. Michael's smile was a bit more reserved, but there was no mistaking the affectionate warmth in his eyes. They looked… right together. Peaceful. As if they had finally found what they had been looking for so very long.

Erik looked at the writing once more, and in a flash he knew what he had to do. _No time? Rules and etiquette? Is that really the only reason why I'm sitting here alone? Get a grip, man. If those two can make it..._

Six weeks later, Erik woke up before dawn, and in an entirely different mood. The reason was simple; it was his wedding day. For once, the weight of the world on his shoulders didn't bother him so much, and he practically jumped out of bed, eager to get on with his life. As he headed for the bathroom, he even caught himself humming.

He showered and shaved in record time. Soon his aide would come to wake him, and then the rest of the staff would descend on him like a swarm of locust. This was his last moment alone for a very long time – _Hopefully for the rest of my life_ – and he had one more thing to do.

He went to his desk and unlocked the top drawer. Inside was the picture of Nikita and Michael, now dog-eared and creased. He couldn't count the number of times he had turned to it for strength during the past weeks; how many times it had kept him from losing his patience – and his sanity – just by knowing it was in his pocket. His impromptu proposal had taken both Leela and the government by surprise. Leela had been overjoyed. The prime-minister's reaction had been quite the opposite.

The news of his proposal hit the government like a bombshell. The entire cabinet was called in. They all insisted that he couldn't possibly marry Kristina's assistant a scant six months after their marriage had so publicly gone up in flames. He insisted he could. His insistence was accompanied by some rather pointed threats, all actually supported by the constitution. In the end, he had ruffled quite a few feathers, but he won the argument.

He looked at the picture fondly. In a strange way, he was going to miss it. It had become his connection to the woman who had saved both him _and_ his relationship with Leela. But it was just a picture, and he didn't need it anymore. Besides, the wedding would be all over the news today. Somewhere, somehow, he knew she would be watching.

He took out his lighter and carefully set the picture on fire. The flames licked the surface, obliterating the image of the smiling couple until it was all but indistinguishable. He dropped the charred remains into a bowl.

As the flames slowly died out, the sun broke over the horizon in a blaze of gold and shone in through the bedroom window. The rays warmed his heart, and for the first time a very long while, Erik was truly happy.

"Thank you, Nikita."

The End


End file.
